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Part 1: Josh
Chapter 2: Ouch
Josh got up pretty quickly and wiped himself down.
He took a step toward me, his nude crotch at my eye level. I was on the low couch with the cushion sunk under me, and he was standing, and it put him over me looking down, his big package in my face.
He reached his hand toward my head, and for a second I thought he was going to touch my hair, the way he had been doing while we were in the middle of all the wildness, but he stopped before he made contact. Something crossed his face, and the hand came back down and reached for his shorts.
"I've got an early class," he said just as his perky butt and heavy package were swallowed by his shorts and underwear together.
"That sucks," I barely started to say before he was gone.
He was the first one out of the room, like always. And I sat there on the sunken couch by myself for a bit, feeling the wetness inside my underwear. I stared at the screen asking if I was still watching.
I had just done something crazy. But now I was alone. It felt weird. I had never had a girl leave right away. But to be honest, I had done that to girls a couple times in my life. And now I knew how it felt. I wasn't sure if it was normal to feel a little "flat" afterward.
I balled up the tissues and threw them in the trash by the door and turned the TV off, heading back to my dorm in the dark. My roommate was asleep. I lay on my back and stared at the bunk slats above me. I was happy that I had done it, but I was scared of what I might have "ruined".
I waited until the next morning to text him, which was a surprisingly difficult act of restraint. "yo you around this weekend" was all I sent, lowercase, no question mark, reading it several times in a row to see if it seemed casual enough before I sent it. Then I put my phone face-down on the desk and did not look at it, which lasted about two minutes. He didn't respond right away. And after a while it felt like he wasn't going to respond at all.
My roommate noticed me being antsy about my phone.
"What do you keep checking? Your grinder account?"
I chuckled, noting the cadence of a joke. "What's that?"
"The gay hookups app or whatever. You know."
"No," I said, already forgetting what he was saying, looking back at my phone in despair. "Haven't heard of it."
—[]—
Josh finally texted back six hours later. "prob."
Six hours of torture and a minimal response. I was getting flaked on. It was slightly familiar, but far worse than any feeling I had had with a girl. Before the couch, Josh would answer me in six minutes. Six seconds sometimes. We used to run text threads a hundred messages long about nothing important, and now I got one word half a day later.
Maybe he needed time to decompress. Either way, the signal was clear that he needed space. I set down the phone, and noticed how hard it was for me to abide by that. My instincts were to just run to his dorm and pull him out, and hang out with him some more. I wanted to do what I wanted to do, not what he needed.
But I let it go. I didn't pick up my phone again. Well, I did, but I closed the messages app and scrolled reels for a while, taking my mind off things. It took me an hour of zoning out before I remembered I had schoolwork to do.
The next couple days were a bit torturous. We didn't have practice while the pool was getting repaired.
I tried not to think about him constantly, but I failed. We were in group chats together. The team had one that was mostly memes, and occasional team captain announcements telling us something the coach had said. Guys would roast each other, and I started reading every message in it looking for Josh's name, looking for whether he'd said he was coming to the Thursday practice. I acted normal, but I felt like a lunatic.
—[]—
My day finally got some structure when a girl hit me up that I had hooked up with before. An hour later, I was walking back to my dorm, post coital and slightly more relaxed. Before I got in the shower, I checked my phone again. At some point, Josh had confirmed he'd be at practice. But somebody had changed the subject to a dumb video already.
I stepped into the hot water and thought about what actually happened that night with Josh. He just said he was going to help me figure out if I was gay or not. Once we got started, it felt like sparks were flying back and forth in tremendous amounts. But then afterward, nothing from him. Maybe it really was just more of a favor between buddies, teammates.
When Thursday finally came, I got to the pool early. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew I was going to respect his space, or at least try to do so. When he walked out onto the deck, my stomach sank. When our eyes met, we both actually smiled. He had kind of a nervous almost-laugh bubbling up, and I couldn't stop my own face from mirroring him.
Neither of us could help the stupid involuntary grins on our faces, and a weight in my chest that I had gotten used to over the previous four days just disappeared. The dread I'd been carrying around got squashed flat in one second. He gave me a little chin-up nod as I walked toward him from across the deck, and I nodded back.
More guys swarmed the area before I could say anything, and I joined them as they started diving into the pool, Josh following soon after.
Practice was practice. Coach ran us hard and I shared a lane with Josh on the recovery sets, and we didn't talk about anything except sets and splits, but we did talk to each other, which felt good. The whole time there was a tension between us, which I liked. At least there was something between us in the moment. I kept catching him half-looking at me and looking away, and I caught myself doing the same to him. In the locker room after, he seemed to gravitate toward me, even if he was talking to someone else. We were having a telepathic conversation, the words still fuzzy but getting clearer. The guys were loud and cracking jokes, partially or fully naked as we started to head into the showers.
The shower room filled up quickly, and a chunk of the way was still "under construction", so there were less shower heads than normal. It got crowded fast, more guys than shower heads, and some were doing the standing-around-waiting-your-turn shuffle, which was kind of a strange thing to do nude, even here.
I had a shower, and I was planning to finish quickly to give someone else a turn, but Josh came out of nowhere and shoved me with his hips, his big dick flopping around as he gave me a gentle but firm body check. He knocked me sideways half a step and replaced me under my shower head, grinning at me. I stepped back under it and continued showering, shoulder to shoulder. A moment later someone else took the same idea, and soon no one was waiting in line. Everyone was showering in closer proximity than normal, sharing shower heads. It wasn't exactly a remarkable thing, since stuff like that happens pretty frequently among teams like ours, but it was a cool moment.
Josh and I stood under the same water and barely talked, staying close, bumping elbows as we soaped up, and I almost reached over to soap him up as well, but stopped myself. I felt completely at ease, regardless of whatever was going to happen with me and Josh, it was going to be okay at a minimum.
He handed me the bottle he carried with his "good" body wash without me asking, when he saw that I needed more. That was all it was, and it was everything, and my whole body remained unclenched, which still felt good. The whole team seemed to be on the same vibe, a higher energy level.
When we left the building, group of us stayed clumped in a rowdy mass like a wolf pack. Half the freshmen and a couple of the older guys were going for food, and Josh and I got swept along with them toward the taco place a few blocks off campus. It was a cheap one that everybody went to from time to time. I spent most of the walk talking to other guys, and so did Josh, but our elbows kept touching, and I wouldn't look down when it happened. It meant more to me that way somehow, because it meant we could be near each other without it being a thing.
The place was bigger than it needed to be for the amount of business it got, but that was fun when a whole group of us showed up. It was brightly lit on the inside, and we sprawled across a few tables and booths nearby each other. Yet even given the extra space, I still ended up in the middle of a crammed booth. Josh and I were the first ones in it, but more guys just kept squeezing in until there were nine stuffed into the space built for six. The table filled up with baskets and tacos, chips, burritos as big as Josh's cock, along with lots of little plastic cups of different colored salsas, which kept getting knocked over.
And there was Coke. One of the appealing aspects of this place, to some people, was that they had the Mexican Coke in the glass bottles, the kind made with "real sugar" as people called it. I, personally, didn't see the appeal. They cost like four dollar each, and people would claim it was so special and "better".
The guy sitting across from me was just starting the classic spiel about it, holding his bottle and announcing, "This shit is so much better than regular Coke."
The booth was full of mouths crunching and laughing and guys reaching across each other, and I had a burrito in one hand and my own sweating glass bottle in the other. And I was, for the first time in a week, self-confident enough to be bold about something.
So that's when I picked a fight for no reason.
"It's the same," I said loudly, waving the bottle around like a drunk man. "'Real sugar is nonsense. It's an illusion. It tastes the same as the corn syrup stuff. Your brain just wants the glass bottle to be better because you paid four dollars for it."
"No, dude," this other guy named Marcus insisted quickly, already worked up about it. "It's not the same. I can taste it. Real sugar is way cleaner."
"It's in your head."
"It's not in my head, it's in my mouth."
"Do a taste test," Josh said, around a mouthful of chips.
The whole table lit up on that immediately, nodding, because a bunch of college water polo players will turn anything into a competition. Somebody remembered there was a burger place right next door with a fountain machine, and one of the older guys, Deshawn, went and came back a minute later with a big fountain cup of regular Coke, sweating and full to the top.
So we did it right. One guy would cup his hands over the tester's eyes so he couldn't see which was which, and another guy would hand him two cups in a random order, the glass-bottle real-sugar and the fountain corn-syrup, and the tester would sip and call it.
Marcus went first and got it wrong. It was basically over at that point. We went around almost the entire booth, the rest of the team watching along. Deshawn got it backwards too, a guy named Kevin guessed the first one right, but then thought we tricked him because he said the second one was also the same one, adding even more weight to my argument. I went too, and I was just guessing, but I got it right, which I chose to interpret as proof of my superior palate rather than a coin flip. By the time we'd gone around the table, the tally was in and it was about fifty-fifty, with Marcus claiming that meant he was right, because he's really bad at math.
"It's in your head," I said again, leaning back, insufferable, pointing the bottle at Marcus. "It's a four-dollar placebo."
"We'd need a bigger sample," Josh said with a shrug as he wiped his hands on a napkin.
"No bigger sample than yours," Deshawn said, grabbing his shoulders.
People laughed. His dick size had finally become something to joke about. I smiled.
When the group started breaking up to go home, we mostly drifted off in different directions toward different dorms. But Josh peeled off my way, not toward his own dorm, and the two of us ended up walking together, just us, and I thought about how the last thing out of my mouth at the restaurant had been that people only see what they want to see.
The noise dropped off behind us as the group scattered, and it got quiet, just our shoes scraping the path, and the streetlights buzzing, birds and crickets chirping and humming. We weren't really talking. Neither of us said anything about the screening room, but we turned down the dusty stone hall toward it, and I punched in the code, and the door closed behind us, and it was just me and Josh on that enormous sunken couch again.
He kissed me first this time. That was new. But he did it gently. I couldn't explain how I knew what he was thinking, but a part of me figured this might've been a goodbye of sorts, just one more sausage fest before he goes back to being straight. I was less nervous than the first time, accepting him for who he was, just like he was doing for me, in his way. Our clothes came off in pieces onto that ancient couch and it felt simple, and comfortable as we were eventually naked, rubbing each other's bodies while our tongues danced, our hard rods pressed against each other between our respective abs.
Some part of me wanted one thing from him before I "let him go," in case this really was the last time this was going to happen. I pulled back from him.
"Can you, try and do me this time?"
He looked at me for a second, reading my face, the old lamp shining in my eyes from behind his head.
"Yeah?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
"Yeah."
And he leaned forward, looking down my body as he folded my legs back, pressing my knees to my shoulders. He put a hand flat on my chest and slowly pushed me into the couch. He took his time as he gently probed my body with his large mass of dick. When he pushed against my hole, he found resistance, and reached into the pocket of his shorts on the ground, pulling out a small tube of hand lotion. He applied it wordlessly, finding a way to get it started.
The stretch started to burn before he even got the head inside me. But he had taken mine, and I felt like this was something I needed to do.
He was gentle with me as he slowly prodded in, one centimeter at a time, carefully testing my body's resistance. I held my dick tightly in my hands, keeping it hard, as that made it easier somehow.
Eventually he was a few inches inside me, and he started to gently thrust. I didn't know how to enjoy it yet, but the visual was all I needed, knowing that the most perfect naked body I had ever seen was using me for pleasure, whatever the context.
I touched myself as I watched, feeling him stretch me past the point that I was ready for, but only half as much as I would have let him if he had decided to press in further.
"You want it inside you?" he asked, looking up at me as he bit his lip.
I felt his dick pulse as he paused.
"Your cum?" I said, my voice lower and gruffer than I expected.
"Yeah," he said, his voice strained.
"You're gonna finish already?"
"Yeah," he said with a chuckle.
I started pounding my rod as hard as I could, keeping eye contact with him. I felt my body tense around him, my thighs closing in on his sides, even my hole tensing on his meat.
"Let me finish first?" I said between breaths.
He paused, like he wasn't sure if he could.
"Please," I said, sounding more desperate than I meant to.
"I'll try," he said, but my ass was tensing, and I was effectively milking him, unable to stop my body from rocking while I spanked myself silly.
He suddenly reached down and grabbed my dick out of my hands for me, taking over. He stroked me rapidly, aiming it down toward himself, and I was done.
Just as I felt him start to rapidly pulse inside me, I crossed over the edge, and it was as good as I remembered.
"Damn," I said, almost choking on my breath as I released a long, white streak over his body.
He exhaled slowly as his abs contracted a bit, my seed running down over them, his own load filling me up at the same time.
He let go of my dick as the last drop landed on my own stomach. He leaned back and pulled out of me, which hurt more than leaving it in, somehow, but I didn't flinch.
We sprawled out, just like the last time, both of us breathing hard, the lamp buzzing in the corner and streaks of my fluids cooling on both our bodies. And in the quiet, I said it.
"I think I'm in love with you."
He didn't look at me, but his face changed. I was watching it, and I saw the half smile drop a little. He got a little serious, and my stomach dropped before he'd said a single word.
He propped up on one elbow and looked at me.
"Ty," he said. "You kind of… made me up in your head. This whole time."
He stopped, working his jaw like he was trying to bite the inside of his cheek, and then he finally looked at me.
"When I would say something, you would stop me and finish my sentences. I don't know."
He put a hand on my thigh. He was actually being kind about it. That was the worst part.
"You don't really know that much about me, man," he went on, tilting his head. "I think you're just gay, or bi, or… whatever, and you're having your first crush on a guy, and you're building me up into something."
"I really liked your ass," I said, chuckling, but knowing my face looked sad. "And your dick was so big. It made me stare."
And the thing is he was smarter than I even realized. And that made me like him more. He was even more than the sweet, easy-going freshman with the babyface who let me talk at him as much as I wanted. In like sixty seconds he'd shown me he'd seen the whole situation clearer than I had, seen me clearer than I'd seen myself, and had just been letting me have it. I resented the idea that he had humored me, but I couldn't argue against him literally having sex with me anyway.
"You're a really good bro," I said.
"And you're a good boy," he said back, patting me on the head, making me grimace.
"Bruh," I said, and he chuckled, and so did I.
I reached for my underwear, and tugged them slowly past my ankles, trying to accept in my head that he really was a straight guy, as much as our experience together disagreed with that. As if to kick me while I was down, he admitted another thing.
"I started seeing a girl," he said, "Since last weekend."
"The day after we..."
"The day before, actually," he said, "Sorry if I sort of disappeared for a while."
I smiled.
"That's cool, man," I said, "Good for you. But also I hate that."
"I figured," he said, "But you'll still get visitation with my cock. In the showers at least."
"Nice," I said.
"But no touching."
"I'm still gonna touch it."
He rolled his eyes. "I know."
We wiped ourselves off, a repeat of the last time, and got dressed. Even lying there gutted on that couch, some part of me already knew this wasn't the end of the thing he'd cracked open in me. It was just a pseudo-end to whatever short-lived thing this had been.
"Thanks for helping me figure it out," I said.
"Yeah." He was already reaching down over the side of the couch, feeling around on the floor in the dark for his underwear, his butt approaching my face on accident.
"I liked it. Both times," he said, his voice muffled by cushions as he struggled to reach, and I leaned forward to take one last bite of that perfect butt, while I still had it in front of me.
He flinched a little, but barely responded. He finally gathered his clothes and put them on.
"See ya," he said.
"Later," I said as I stayed where I was, sunken into the old couch in my moist, post sex underwear.
—[]—
I went a couple weeks without much of anything "new" happening after that. He sent me a dick pic that same night, with the caption, "I just had sex."
"Yeah I was there," I texted back.
"No I did it again. With the girl."
I actually smiled to myself.
"Wow, flex." I responded.
I got a similarly nude message from him every once in a while, and sometimes he sent it to the group chat by mistake, which reminded me how gay even the straightest straight guy actually is, because they acted like it was a girl's boobs. But he was shy about the butt for some reason, and wouldn't send a pic of it. I guess it just wasn't a point of pride for him. I still got to see it in the showers after practice.
A couple weeks went by and my head was still full of Josh, more than I could talk about to anybody. I got with a couple of girls at parties in that stretch, and both times I lay there afterward feeling the exact swallowed-stone thing I'd felt on that couch the first night with Josh, and both times I didn't text them back the next day.
Then one night, alone, my roommate out, I sat on my bunk and I thumbed through reels until a subconscious urge floated to the surface. I opened the app store, feeling my heart race, and searched for the word, "Grinder".